


Living Vicariously

by ThisThatAndTheOther



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actually I don't know how to tag this, Hannibal is Hannibal, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sassy Will, Will Loves Hannibal, Will eats things he probably shouldn't, and Hannibal feeds it to him because he wouldn't eat it himself, even though he probably shouldn't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 22:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6348523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisThatAndTheOther/pseuds/ThisThatAndTheOther
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal’s careful about what he puts in his body. Not so much about Will’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What We Have Together is Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last new fic, I swear. Once this is done, I'll finally finish all of the other fics that I started.

Hannibal sighed against the rim of his wine glass. The bouquet of the Syrah in his hands failed to impress him, but he couldn’t really complain. At least they had wine out here in the Alps.

They were in a small cabin Hannibal owned in the basin of a mountain, far removed from civilization by several hundred miles. Though, according to the deed, a Mr. Vincent Dorshev was the owner. It was just one of many small properties Hannibal had in other names across the world, but it was the first one they settled in since their journey across the ocean.

They arrived on the back of snowmobiles, laden with the necessary supplies, and it was where they had spent the last two weeks in hiding. Hannibal had thought it would give them a nice reprieve from the fact that they were currently on the FBI’s most wanted list. Far away from any computer, Wi-Fi connection, or any other such link to the outside world, Hannibal had hoped to spend their time in the cabin thinking of how their combined threads of fate were now knotted together. How the future seemed so much brighter, despite the terminally long nights in the Alps.

In reality, when Will was not chopping wood for their near-constant fire, the man was agonizing over the long arm of the law, convinced that even here, amongst only snow and tree, they would be found and broken apart. The man’s anxiety over being separated would have been charming, if it didn’t spoil the very air of the cabin, making it stifling when it should have been comfortable.

It was enough to make Hannibal take matters into his own hands.

Exchanging his wine glass for his spoon, Hannibal dug into his beef and mushroom stew. Across from the dining table, Will was quickly consuming his bowl. Beneath the diminutive table, their knees were almost touching.

“Try not to worry, Will.”

Will took another bite, “I may mirror you in some ways, but I’m not made of the same parts. I can’t just switch it off.” He tipped his head in thought as he swallowed down his mouthful, “Christ, I don’t think you even have the switch in the first place, so please, don’t tell me to _just stop_ thinking about it and expect it to work.”

“I’m not proposing you stop thinking altogether. I only suggest you direct your thoughts onto something more constructive.”

Will scoffed around another mouthful. “Yeah, like what? We’re in the middle of nowhere, and we’re wanted by the FBI, Interpol, Europol, the UN Police. I mean, if there’s a list we’re on it. Shit, CSIS is probably looking for us.”

“A bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Hannibal figured only two out of that list were actively interested in their recapture.

Will looked up from where he was scooping the last of his meal onto his spoon, “Barely.”

“Mmm,” Hannibal relented, not seeing the point in pursuing the point. In a matter of time it wouldn’t matter anyways, “In any case, you can’t change the fact that we’re on these lists. What you can alter is how you experience your time here. Live in the moment; appreciate our time together.”

At Will’s pointed look over the small dining table, Hannibal rose from the table, “At the very least, take joy in dessert.” With their plates in his hands, he headed towards the kitchen, “It could be your last.”

The kitchen was small, just large enough to fit an oven with a suitable gas range, a double basin sink, and a refrigerator which lacked a proper freezer. There were no built-in cabinets, but there was a narrow wooden shelving unit that spanned one corner from floor to ceiling, and there was a small table that worked double duty as a butcher’s block and a counter. It by no means came close to his state-of-the-art kitchen back in Baltimore all those years ago, but it would do. It had done.

He deposited the dishes in the sink and turned to the fridge. Pulling out the small ramekins filled with mixed berry cheesecake, he let the door shut behind him. By then Will was leaning in the door jamb with his wine glass held loosely in his hand. It being one of two wine glasses left in their entire cabin, Hannibal hoped Will wouldn’t accidentally break it tonight.

“Not funny,” Will said before draining the last of the wine and placing it in the sink with the rest of the dishes. He started to undo the button at his right cuff, “I’ll do the dishes.”

Hannibal brushed the junction of Will’s elbow just barely. Despite the brief touch, he felt the heat radiating from his body, “And have you stand there thinking about our fates against the powers that be? No, leave it for now. We’ll have dessert, which I hope will be a lesson in mindfulness.”

Hannibal didn’t have to watch Will to know the man rolled his eyes in a slow blink.

“Alright, master yogi.” He teased, yet still, he arrived at the table and sat before his dish, “What do you have for the class today?”

“Tell me how it tastes.”

With a bemused smile, Will picked up his spoon. Hannibal watched as his lips closed around the metal and delivered the small portion of cheesecake to his tongue. His jaw moved as he chewed, and Will waited until he swallowed to answer.

“It tastes like cheesecake – blackberry and raspberry, I think.”

Sometimes Hannibal thought Will liked being difficult. “Your eyes could have told you that. What are the 10 000 taste buds on your tongue saying?”

Another spoonful disappeared in his mouth. This time Will closed, his jaw working slowly to press the cake against the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

He opened his eyes, “The cream cheese is fresh, mild… creamier, like it’s fattier than normal.”

Hannibal nodded encouragement. He had driven the snowmobile to drive into what he told Will was the nearest town to get the cream cheese and berries. In reality, he went onto a ski resort not too far from the town and bartered for fresh food that he could not have hoped to find anywhere else.

“Its sourness is soft compared to the tart berries, which are also sweet. Both are light, crisp, almost tangy compared to the buttery, roundedness of the crust.” He scooped another spoon into his awaiting mouth, “It’s good – you should try some.”

Hannibal touched his own spoon despite knowing he wouldn’t have the cheesecake. Not yet, anyways. “And what does it feel like?”

Will rolled his eyes again, the flutter of his eyelids pulling at his brows. “It feels like you’re getting a free show,” He pointed with his spoon at Hannibal with a smile, the metal streaked with reddish cream, “Is this something I should know about?”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. Though he took pleasure in others, especially Will, appreciating the food that he made them, the sight didn't inspire involuntarily lust. Will rolled his eyes for a third time before taking another bite. Again he closed his eyes in concentration, a small furrow between his eyebrows wrinkled the skin on his forehead.

“Alright, it’s… cold, smooth, creamy like I said, but also granular. I can still feel the individual grains of sugar next to the ground graham crackers in the crust and oh.”

The word stretch between them, travelling the long distance from Will’s diaphragm to the delicate drum of Hannibal’s ear and it still went on for miles.

It must be kicking in now, Hannibal thought. It would start as a vibrating pulse throughout his body, like he had drunk to much wine – but clearer than how alcohol would dull his senses.

“Do you feel it now?” Hannibal asked, elbows pressed into the table, for once letting curiosity take precedence over proper etiquette. He barely restrained placing his head in his open palm as he watched.

When Will opened his eyes, the black of his pupils grew to press the blue iris to a thin ring. He stared, with his mouth still open in an errant shape, lips wet and glossy under the low light.

“Feel it?” Will blinked rapidly, before resuming his stare.

Hannibal nodded, “The psilocybin. Save for dinner, your stomach was empty, so it shouldn’t take long for it to absorb completely.”

Will’s eyes darted to the corner behind Hannibal’s head, “Psilocybin… mushrooms. Magic mushrooms. You gave me magic mushrooms?”

“Yes, in the stew. I’m surprised you didn’t taste them.”

Will had begun to breathe heavily, eyes going wide. “Did you take these mushrooms?”

Hannibal shook his head, “No. I made a separate stew for myself made with porcini mushrooms.”

Will looked back to the corner.

“What do you see?”

“Shadows, behind you, moving. Like they’re flames licking you, but dark. They’re crackling. Can you,” he swallowed loudly, “Can you move closer to me? Please?”

The auditory and visual hallucinations had started. Hannibal could only assume the unique matrix of Will’s mind made them particularly vivid; yet, he had no fears that the shadows of Will’s mind would overtake him during his trip. Since Will’s cliff side epiphany and the ensuing transformation, he had illuminated the dark corners of his thoughts. The various hallways and staircases of his mind palace may lead him to surprising places, but they no longer had the power to disturb Will as they once did.

Hannibal lifted out of his seat, careful to pick up the chair so as not to scrape the legs against the floor and flare Will’s delicate senses. As soon as he was in reach, Will grabbed his wrist in a punishing grip. His palm was clammy. He still stared into the corner.

“Will?” It took a few more times before he would look at Hannibal. His eyes were impossibly dark, “Look down at your dessert and tell me what you see.”

The half-eaten cheesecake was smeared with the red flesh of burst raspberries. Will made a noise in the back of his throat, “Blood.”

Hannibal took his spoon and scooped a small portion of cheesecake onto the hollow of metal, “No. Look at the cheesecake, Will.”

Will blinked hard once before prying his eyes open. “Why did you give me mushrooms?” The words lifted at the end on a pronounced whine.

“You’re descent into repetitive, negative thoughts about our future has me concerned. There are studies that psilocybin can break that loop and make new connections. That it gives its users a new perspective.”

“Your perspective.” Will pouted, the expression exaggerated by the ruthless pulse of the drug.

“No, Will. Entirely yours. Now, the cheesecake.”

Will blinked once before starting to laugh. It started out as a giggle, contained by the tight press of his lips, but the force of his laughter couldn’t be contained. Hannibal watched as Will shaded his eyes as his shoulders started to shake. Eventually, he was laughing so loud it sounded like it hurt, ripped straight from his chest and given to Hannibal on a platter.

Finally, Will pulled the hand from his eyes to reveal the skin around them wet with tears. Giggles still bubbled from his lips but the complete torrent of laughter had cut off.

“You need to shave, Hannibal.” He said around a large smile. 

Hannibal stared flatly. It was over 12 hours since he last shaved, so it was likely true. Hannibal declined to comment on Will’s permanent 5 o’clock shadow.

“I’m not really hungry. Actually kind of nauseated,” Will said, looking at the spoon again with a mild grimace.

“It will pass,” Hannibal placed the spoon in the ramekin, giving up on it for now, “Perhaps we can go for a walk.”

The suggested seemed to surprise Will, “Now? Sure.”

Leaving the dishes where they were, Hannibal ushered Will towards the front door where they kept their coats and boots. He watched as Will only fumbled slightly with his laces before he buried himself in layer after layer, dragging his knit cap down on his head as Hannibal slipped into his own shoes and coat.

Outside, the air was so cold it stole the breath from them. It was snowing softly as it had been for the entire day, enshrouding their secluded part of the world in a damp layer of snow. The heaviness of it entombed the area in silence, only broken by the crunch of snow under their boots and the rustle of fabric as they walked out from their cabin.

They escaped the warm glow of the lights in the window and moved towards along the line of trees surrounding their makeshift home. They walked in silence, save for what sounded suspiciously like an internal monologue narrating their trek, which Hannibal ignored for the incomplete murmurings of someone under the influence of mind-altering drugs. Occasionally, Will dragged a gloved hand along the trunks that they passed.

They walked for a few miles before they stopped. Above them, the sky was dark, clouds having obliterated the usually clear view of the stars. Despite that, Will still looked up, eyes tracking movement of something only he could see.

Hannibal was disappointed that he could not observe the visual delights the psilocybin painted for Will, but he settled for what he could see. He made no attempt to hide the way he looked at the long column of Will’s neck, now arched as the man looked at the sky, his Adam’s apple a prominent knot above his tightly tied scarf. His breath plumed smoky from his open mouth before it dissipated into the night sky. He blinked against the occasional snowflake that caught at his eyelashes; the rest of him – and Hannibal – was developing a fine powder of white.

They stood like that until the apples of Will’s cheeks were bright red and Hannibal could feel the chill bite through his thick gloves.

“It’s so peaceful out here. My own padded white room.”

Finally Hannibal moved his eyes to the sky, “There are no straitjackets or keys confining you here.”

“No,” Will said, the world drawled as though he wanted to savour the taste of its singular syllable. “Just you.”

 “Just me.”

He looked in the direction they came and sighed, “We’ve come a long way.”

Twice as true, considering long fall in the Atlantic that started it all, “And we’ll travel further.”

Will smiled, “I look forward to it. But right now, I’m fucking freezing.” He shivered, rubbing his hands against his arms.

“Then let’s go home.”

Hannibal let Will lead them back to their cabin, though he followed closely should Will forget their way. With only a few minor missteps, they returned to their home without trouble.

Hannibal just began to bang his soles against the wooden siding when Will pressed against the door, nearly falling through it in his haste to get indoors. Inside, he stamped his boots free of snow on the carpet. Hannibal would clean that and the snow he shook from his cap later.

Will’s jacket, arms stuffed with his hat, scarf, and gloves, was pressed into Hannibal’s empty hands.

Will’s eyes were still blown wide and glossy, “I’m going to go. In the living room. And just sit there. And do nothing. For a while. And you’re going to light the fire for me. So I can just sit and… yeah.”

Hannibal nodded. These duties were negligible.

“Oh, and Hannibal?”

“Yes, Will?”

“Don’t ever give me mushrooms again.”


	2. Hot Stuff

The location of their next property allowed for a large enough plot of land that Hannibal could cultivate a garden. The first spring they had stayed, Hannibal had worked the earth by himself, first digging up the grass then turning the soil. He spent the entire season testing the pH levels to ensure there was enough calcium to provide a nourishing environment for his heirloom seeds that summer. He spent hours adding compost and fertilizer to the soil, taking care that the right levels of nitrogen, phosphate, and potash were achieved.

The first year, they had a modest yet successful harvest of vegetables. That fall, Will constructed for Hannibal a greenhouse, first by laying its foundation and then raising its framework. Within weeks he had outfitted it with electrical and water, so there was a constant supply of heat and moisture.

That winter, Hannibal had gone into town to collect interesting seeds for the next season. Amongst the typical beefeaters, carrots, green beans, and corn, he had a small satchel of Carolina Reaper seeds. Despite the humid atmosphere of the greenhouse and Hannibal’s attentive care, only one of the seeds developed into a plant.

As the seasons changed and the days lengthened, Hannibal kept the Carolina Reaper in the greenhouse, it preferring the muggy air of the protected nursery. Still, the single plant’s growth was stunted and the plant only produced a single pepper. Hannibal watched with anticipation as it turned red.

Once it did, he was careful to wear gloves, not unlike those he used in surgery, to pluck it from the stalk. The gloves remained on his hands and a mask covered his mouth as he took it into the house proper, where he diced it, seeds and all.

It would add a nice kick to the curry that night.

Will got home several hours later from a run, just in time to shower before he was expected at the table. He breezed through the spaces of the home, and arrived at his seat with wet hair. Over the aromas of the curry, Hannibal could smell the shampoo that he used.

Hannibal watched as Will dipped a spoon into his bowl and lifted it to his lips. Will frowned, trying to identify the unusual taste.

“It’s kind of spicier than your usual fair. A lot spicier. Really spicy. Oh my god, my mouth. On fire.” By now Will’s eyes were rounded in alarm. The skin around his cupid’s bow was enflamed and the pits of his cheeks were flushed. Hannibal couldn’t tell if he was sweating yet.

Will coughed and gagged, “What… Aren’t you?”

Hannibal shook his head, “No. We only had one Carolina Reaper.”

Will licked his lips, then grimaced at the stripe of fire it ignited the skin there, “What is a Carolina Reaper?”

“It currently holds the title for the world’s hottest pepper. With a score of 1 569300 on the Scoville scale, it’s 100 times the heat of a jalapeño.”

Will immediately chugged the wine and groaned “Oh god, that made it worse.”

The cutlery chimed as he pressed away from the table in haste, making a run for the kitchen. Turning the tap to full, he positioned his mouth over the faucet, where he didn’t move from except to take gasping breaths. Water went everywhere. The floor, the counters, the tap -- all would have to be mopped.

He opened the fridge and pulled out the bottle of milk. He set a small glass next to it before he touched the small of Will’s back, where it was bent over the lip of the sink.

“Will. Will… Will?”

Will only straightened marginally, head and shoulders mostly still in the basin of the sink, “What?” His voice was sharp.

“Milk is supposed to have a bette—“

“Give it here,” Will said even as he grabbed the bottle. He wrapped his lips around the lip of the bottle, tipped it, and chugged with audible gulps. Twin streams of it ran from the corner of his mouth and dripped through his beard. Hannibal watched in distaste as more of the milk got on Will’s shirt and kitchen floor than in his stomach.

With the last of the milk gone, Will gasped. Then panted, mouth open and tongue pressed flat in the hull of his mouth. The bottle met the counter with a sharp crack, yet luckily it didn’t break under the force of Will’s hand.

“Did it wo—“

Will jabbed a finger in Hannibal’s face, “Don’t even.” Then groaned and wrapped an arm around his stomach. He shoved passed Hannibal and walked through the door.

Pulling a cloth from the drawer, Hannibal mopped up the spilled milk before it could dry into a tacky mess. When he left to place the sopping cloth in the hamper, he found Will lying on the floor. He was still panting.

“How much of it did I eat?” Will ground out from his place on the carpet.

“A spoonful.”

“How. Much. Of. It. Was. In. My. Bowl?”

“All of it.”

“Why,” Will curled up in a foetal position.

Hannibal shrugged, “My plant finally yielded something, and it would have been a shame for it to go to waste.”

“Well, now I’m dying, so I hope your little experiment was worth it.”

“It’s certainly edifying. I don’t think I’ll try to grow it again.”

Will panted. Hannibal watched from above.

“Do we have our medical insurance in order?”

Hannibal frowned, “Yes. Why?”

Will curled tighten in on himself, “Because I think I might actually be dying.” He took a controlled inhale through his nose and pressed it through his pursed mouth, “Or I’m already dead. I think I can see time.” He stared wide-eyed and unblinking at the ceiling.

Hannibal walked back into the kitchen and filled the glass he set out earlier with water and a spoonful of baking powder. Returning to living room, he crouched next to Will’s prone body and placed a hand under his head.

“Sit up and drink this.”

Will eyed it suspiciously, “What is this, ghost pepper water?”

At Hannibal’s pointed stare, Will relented silently and let the other man lift his head towards the glass. He slurped noisily and swished the mixture in his mouth several times before swallowing it. 

“That should help to counter any pain,” Hannibal said as he returned the glass to the kitchen. He left it to the side of the sink, knowing he’ll have to make Will the same mixture a few more times over the night. When he returned, Will had unwound from his tight knot on the ground.

“Will you live?”

Will glared, lower jaw jutting out as it was wont to do when he was angry, and despite his position on the ground, the dark stare made Hannibal retreat to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Carolina Reaper is real. I love Habeneros, but the Reaper genuinely scares me.


End file.
